The Sociopath and the Songbird
by Notyourhousekeeper16
Summary: With John moved out, Sherlock is left alone and depressed. Worried that his brother will return to his self-destructive ways, Mycroft persuades his intern to move into 221B. This comes in the form of Jenna, an ambitious woman who couldn't be further from the famed detective. However, when the quarrelling pair discover a shared love of music, Mycroft's plan takes a different course.
1. Prologue

Hi people of the internet! Over the many months since I first published my first chapter, I've gotten several followers, which is great. However, as I had become stuck with the storyline and quit, I felt a little guilty that people were still discovering it and waiting for more. So, I decided to give it a reboot! The story itself will be very similar, but I've rewritten that first chapter in order to add some more depth to the relationships between characters. I hope you still enjoy it, and please be assured that there WILL be another update soon. thanks!

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Sat outside her boss' office, Jenna Nightingale felt like a naughty schoolchild waiting to be scolded by the headmaster. She had a right to be nervous; he had a reputation amongst the other interns for being a real ball-breaker, and was not well liked.

Not in the slightest.

As she sat in the lumpy old office chair, racking her brains for any possible violation of her contract that he might feel like scrutinising her for, the door to his mysterious office flew open.

"Mr Holmes will see you now."

Shit.

"Oh," Jenna replied, her mouth dry. "Thanks."

The woman continued to tap away at her blackberry, barely acknowledging her existence. She waved nonchalantly towards the open door, turned on her heel, and strode away.

Jenna rose to her feet, attempting to gain just a little bit of self control as her hands began to shake. She waited at the open door, still stopping to knock before being granted admission by the man himself. His assistant may have told her she could go in, but she knew her boss liked to be in control, and endeavoured to test people's manners. Everything was a test to him, it seemed.

"Uh, excuse me, Mr Holmes. You asked to see me?"

He looked at her with stony indifference for a split second, then broke out into a beaming smile. Oh god - what was happening?

"Jenna! How lovely to see you! Gosh, you look wonderful today! Here, do sit down, and goodness gracious me, have a chocolate!"

The older gentleman pulled a gilded box from under his desk and gestured for Jenna to take one of the frosted truffles inside. She sat dumbfounded for a minute, trying to process the kindness and warmth she had been received with, and simply shook her head.

"Oh, what a shame! That's perfectly alright - perhaps you'll take some to take home, yes?"

"Yes, I mean, I may. Thank you, Mr Holmes."

"Oh come now, call me Mycroft."

She couldn't believe her ears. Where had her big shot, commandeering boss gone? This room certainly looked like everything she had expected, complete with ornate furniture and hardwood flooring. Why was he acting so down to earth?

"Thank you... Mycroft. What was it you wanted to discuss with me? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

Some of the brightness dropped from his eyes at the very mention of the purpose of their meeting, but he maintained that grin. It seemed empty now, more like a snarl or smirk, positively oozing sarcasm. Jenna shifted uncomfortably in the regal chair 'Mycroft' had placed her in.

"I'm sure you've heard of my brother."

"Well.. I think I've heard some mentions of him. Isn't he some sort of officer?" Mr Holmes' brother was something of a taboo subject amongst his workforce. He'd been in the papers for god knows what reason, and seemed to cause the boss nothing but grief. Jenna tried to stay out of it.

"A 'consulting detective'. Solves crimes with a little friend of his."

What was he even asking? "Oh. Okay."

"The issue is, Miss Nightingale, that this friend has recently had a child. Whilst my brother - Sherlock is his name - is still in regular contact with him, he has developed somewhat of a problem."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Sherlock has what I'd call... an obsessive personality. An addictive personality. He needs someone in close proximity to regulate his temperament, and frankly, I'm far too busy for it to continue to be me. I'd therefore like to give you a proposition."

"You want me to check up on him from time to time?"

"No. I'm asking you to move into his flat with him."

Jenna waited a short while for the punch line to Mycroft's joke, and, when it didn't arrive, she jolted back into reality.

"I'm not sure I understand, Mr Holmes." Ah, the formalities had returned. At least one thing was normal in this moment of madness. Move in with a man she had no real knowledge of? Why?

"Our parents simply couldn't take him in; he can become fairly demanding and I don't want them to live their retirement out in stress. I've looked at your files. I know your history, and I know just how desperately you need some additional income. I will pay you handsomely for your services."

"I'm terribly sorry sir, but I don't think that this is within my capabilities as your assistant. Thank you." In one wobbly move, Jenna stood up and pushed her chair back. Crap. She had so just lost her chances of getting a real job in Parliament.

"£1000 a week."

She turned and blinked at the man behind the desk. "Pardon?"

"£1000 a week for telling me how Sherlock is doing. For giving me information. Not including your rent, which I'll be happy to cover. More than enough money to care for a terminally ill mother, is it not?"

Jenna snapped her head back around as her eyes grew wet. That was a low blow. He was right, though. How could she turn down money like that when her mum laid dormant and depressed in a cancer ward?

"Alright. I mean, I'll consider it, yes." She dabbed at her eyes, praying to god that her mascara hadn't run. She didn't want him to know that he'd gotten to her.

The fake kindness and excitement grew instantly back, and Mycroft clapped his hands together, rubbing them as if he had made a very successful business deal. "Wonderful! I'll have someone contact you with the details tonight. Oh, and before you go, Miss Nightingale..."

She exhaled heavily. "What, sir?"

"Do take a chocolate."


	2. Meeting Mr Holmes

Jenna first set eyes on 221B Baker Street on a crisp Autumn's afternoon. Everything had seemed so colourful on her journey to the flat: the azure sky, the ruby phone boxes, and even the piles of murky orange and brown leaves swept to the sides of the pavement had fueled her excitement about coming to live in such a beautiful city. She had always loved visiting London and had been raised not too far away from the capital, but the prospect of making it a permanent place to inhabit was exhilarating.

Everything seemed so grand - majestic, even - that she almost forgot her anxiety at meeting her future flatmate. That is, until her cab stopped outside of the door. The already brash wind seemed to stir then, sending a whirl of crunchy brown leaves flying down the road.

A feeling of dread swept over her, seizing hold of her fluttering heart and dragging it up into her throat. She had fretted so much over this moment, after hearing the horror stories about Sherlock, but surely he couldn't be that bad - could he? Mycroft had always been keen to exaggerate; forever a fan of the superlative. It was always the 'worst cup of coffee' or the 'worst meal' he'd ever had. He was a perfectionist, and to him nothing could ever simply be 'good', or even 'okay' for that matter. Why should she heed to his criticisms of his younger brother?

Jenna knocked gently on the black door, stumbled back, and waited. 'How surreal,' she began to think. She had never been able to quite believe that this was happening in the first place, but to finally be here, face to face with what would be her new front door, the situation suddenly seemed a lot more strange. She tried to take a deep breath in, but it caught in her chest and she was deprived, as if her nerves had plunged her into a pool of freezing water.

Luckily, the door swung open and Jenna was greeted by a cheerful older lady dressed in a colourful cardigan. Her honest grin as she enveloped the young woman in a hug melted away the doubt, and Jenna felt a little warmer.

"Hello, dear! You must be Jenna, yes? Mycroft has told me all about you - do come in, it's chilly out there!"

Jenna did as she had been gleefully told, and followed the friendly woman inside and up the steps. She took note of the musty smell and dark wallpaper, on the verge of peeling. It wasn't the newest of buildings, that was clear.

Her companion had reached the top of the stairs now, lingering in front of the entrance to the room ahead. "Now, I'm Mrs Hudson, and I'll be your landlady. Don't worry about your papers and rent and all that nonsense; Mycroft's got it all sorted."

"That's wonderful, thanks ever so much," Jenna smiled, although she noted the anxiety in her own voice. Her eyes flickered to the open doorway, trying to casually scan the contents of the flat. She couldn't see him, and she felt herself grow more uncertain.

"...I hate to seem rude," she murmured, wringing her hands around the handles of her canvas bag in a last-ditch attempt to make them stop shaking, "but - what exactly is Sherlock like? Is he... You know... Okay? To get on with, I mean- I mean, I'm sure he's.. "

Her nervous ramblings earned her a sympathetic smile from the ever-patient Mrs Hudson, who sighed. "He's a lovely young man, if you ask me. I'm sure you'll get on like a house on fire, as long as you don't touch any of his experiments."

Jenna blinked blankly. "...experiments?"

It went unheard, however, as her new landlady had toddled off into the flat, setting down two cups of tea on a grubby table littered with old newspapers.

"There are two cups there. Why are there two cups? Are you joining me?" Jenna shifted nervously at the sound of Sherlock's voice. She hadn't yet entered the room, and felt cringe inducing awkwardness as she gingerly stepped in, raising a solitary hand to greet him and pressing her lips together into a hard-lined smile. "Shit," she thought, "I haven't even said one word to the man and he already thinks I'm an idiot!"

"... And who's this?"

"Oh come Sherlock, you knew that Jenna was coming today. She's the lovely young lady coming to stay with you for a while, we talked about this!"

"Oh. Oh yes." Jenna felt his piercing eyes scanning her person and she squirmed, not quite able to meet his gaze. "No thank you. Not today."

Mrs Hudson pursed her lips, adopting the tone of a mother scolding a son. "Sherlock."

He glared at her for a second, his hooded eyes and loss of smirk betraying him and revealing his tiredness. He tilted back in the dining chair and inhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson, for the tea. If you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak with Miss Nightingale alone."

Mrs Hudson huffed and made her way out, giving Jenna a pat on the shoulder as she left. Whether it was for encouragement or out of pity, Jenna was unsure, but she felt as if she deserved both. He certainly didn't seem to happy to have her there.

"Sit down then, let's get this over and done with."

Jenna hurriedly came and sat in the opposite chair. She felt like this was some sort of job interview. Hell - with so much money at stake, it kind of was.

"I just want to say, it's a pleasure meeting you. I've heard lots about you and I really think-"

"How much is my brother paying you?" Sherlock slumped his elbows onto the busy table, resting his chin in his hands and staring at her with those inquisitive eyes. She was shocked and found herself lost for words for a moment, opting instead to look at the striking features of the man sat in front of her.

"...he told you?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I worked it out. It's not difficult, Mycroft has tried this before. The only difference is, the friend that came before you was good enough not to take anything. So, please do answer my question - how much is my brother paying you?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying." His voice, although rich and commanding before, gained a malicious edge to it, and he continued to glare at his potential new flat mate with unwavering disdain. She broke eye contact, picking at her maroon nail varnish in order to conceal her shaking hands and seem more nonchalant.

"A fair amount." She nibbled at her lip and peeped at him again. His expression remained unchanged.

"I expect a share, then. If you're going to be paid to stay here with me, then the least you can do is to help me put up with it."

Jenna couldn't believe his nerve. Fair enough, she could see why getting paid to live with him could definitely piss him off, but she'd been nothing but polite. He had no right to be so rude, especially when he was ignorant of the cause for her need for the cash.

"I'm sorry, but I need as much as I can get."

He smirked, and broke his gaze for what seemed to be the first time since he'd first locked his cold eyes on her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What?" She blinked back stinging tears, breathing shakily through her nose. She had never been any good in high-pressure situations, and Sherlock was turning what could have been a pleasant meeting into an interrogation. She focused on calming herself down, but was sure that he had noticed her panic already.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you exactly why you're here?"

Jenna scoffed, but it was cold and shaky. She was almost surprised at how cruel it sounded, but, at the point of crying, she didn't care. "I don't think you could ever even begin to understand-"

"I never said I'd understand your motives. I know them though."

"Well, go on then." Her voice cracked as she felt a a tear spill onto her face. She couldn't believe the mess she had made. She knew she would ruin things. She always did.

"...You're upset. The mention of having less money aggravated you, that's for certain. It's not greed though. Greed wouldn't solicit that response. There's an outside emotional factor which requires cash that you don't quite have at the moment - you're an intern, you can't earn much - and you're desperate enough to come and live with a man you've never met simply for a chance at raising some."

Jenna sniffed. "Yeah, so?"

"I'm not finished yet. You're what, twenty six? So -"

"Twenty seven."

"You're twenty seven. It's very unlikely that you have children or pets, as you're not bringing them to live here. From what Mycroft tells me I'm assuming you're single-"

"What?"

"-and besides, you have no wedding ring so you're not married or recently widowed. That means that I can rule all of those out of the list of possible factors. But if I take into consideration the average age of parents around the time you were born, that places yours in their fifties..."

Jenna froze at the mention of her parents, giving a little gasp as she willed herself not to cry. She hadn't prepared for this. He was not what she was expecting. He was so far from anything that anyone could ever have expected.

His icy blue eyes met her cloudy grey ones once more.

"Your parents. One of your parents is ill."

Jenna nodded, the tears she had previously combatted falling freely and silently.

"You need money for a surgery, don't you?" Although his questions were relentless, his tone had softened from dark and demanding to confessional, and he lent back a few inches. The ice in his eyes had thawed ever so slightly, becoming pools of clear arctic water. For the first time, Jenna decided that they were, indeed, oddly beautiful.

"Yes. My mum." She sighed, pressing a tissue from the table to her eye. "She has ovarian cancer. It's quite advanced. There's an operation they can do, but of course, it's the NHS, there's a waiting list. Four months. We've discussed chemo, but, she doesn't know if she would..." She stopped then, not for fear of sharing too much, but for a lack of words.

"I thought that it would have to be something of that kind." Sherlock pulled back, standing up for the first time since they had met. Jenna was taken aback by his height - he wasn't a giant, but, standing in at 5"3, he seemed it to her. His dressing gown had also gone unnoticed - along with his stubble, it presented an untidiness that was both unexpected and a contrast to the obvious clarity of his mind.

"I'm sorry I wasted your time, anyway. I won't bother you again. Thanks." She arose, and made her way back to the door from which she had came.

"You can stay."

She whipped around in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

He maintained an indifferent composure, but Jenna could swear that she saw a glint of playfulness in his otherwise stony cold eyes. "You can live here, as long as you don't get in the way of the case I might be on, or touch my things - the scientific equipment especially. Do you understand?"

Although relieved, Jenna also felt herself become anxious again - if meeting the man had been this strange and emotional, what would actually living with him be like? "I understand. And no touching the experiments, right? That's what Mrs Hudson told me anyway!" She tried to have a chuckle with her new flat mate through her slowing tears, but was only met with a deafening, awkward silence.

"You've already broken that rule. The tissue you picked up and have been rubbing all over your face was used to wrap specimens."

"Specimens?"

"You'd rather not know. Trust me. I'd suggest you go and wash your face though. You're all streaky, now. Plus goodness knows what was on that tissue. The bathroom is around the corner over there."

It wasn't difficult to find. Peering into a lonely, foggy mirror, Jenna began to splash cold water onto her face. The sparse eyeliner that she had applied had moved to her cheeks, giving her the appearance of some sooty Victorian chimney boy. She would've looked like a man too, she felt, with her baggy sweater - it was only really her hair that revealed her. Long and wavy, the wind had transformed it into a brunette bird's nest. She tried to pull some of the tangles out with her fingers, but to no avail.

She huffed, rubbing her aching head with her fingertips. Screw it. Who did she have to impress anyway? She was going to stay here now, and just had to wait for the car to arrive with the few possessions she had. Of course there was Sherlock, but she had already made her first impression, and it had been far from positive to say the least.

"What an arsehole," she thought, wiping her hands on a scratchy blue handtowel. His smirk had been just a smidgen sexy, but, paired with that arroganct and vitriolic tone, ended up infuriating. Besides, she had no interest in anyone who felt it right to treat someone in such a way - she would do her best to get along with him, but that was it. As long as Sherlock didn't actively hate her, and they kept their disagreements low-key, Jenna felt confident that her place at the flat and as Mycroft's intern were secure.

A short buzz from her jeans startled her back into reality, and she fumbled with damp fingers to retrieve her iPhone. Hoping to see an encouraging text from her mother or friends, she was bitterly disappointed when her boss' name flashed onto the screen instead.

"I do hope your meeting went well today. Make sure my little brother is on his best behaviour tomorrow; I will be visiting at 1pm to make sure you're 'settling in'. - MH"

Oh crap! She hadn't expected him to take such a hands-on approach in making sure that she was keeping Sherlock in good company, and certainly wasn't prepared for him to actually see the two together - especially when Sherlock seemed completely reluctant to forge any sort of friendship.

Still, as cold and cantankerous as Mycroft could be, Jenna was touched by the care he had for the gruff man working in the next room. Noting the faint sound of scientific equipment clinking together on the other side of the door, Jenna wondered just how much of his bravado was a front. Was there a sweet and sensitive soul inside, just waiting to be released?

No, probably not - he seemed to be a complete and utter arse. But, with her home and job on the balance, Jenna resolved to put that aside and make something good out of a bad situation. Stepping out once again to the musty living area, she was completely unaware just how good she would be able to make her life there - and how bad it would be for her.


	3. A Visit From Mycroft

**Jenna screeched as she blindly stumbled through the forest, thorns and brambles catching on her hip and tearing into her flesh. Her legs were lead weights tying her down onto the spot; the harder she tried to run, the thicker the undergrowth became, engulfing her lower body like tar.**

**She felt a chill ripple down her spine as a dark shape passed by. It was fast, and in her core she knew that it meant her harm. Too elegant to be an animal, it crept speedily around her, like a big cat closing in on its prey. Jenna tried to turn to catch glimpse of her pursuer, but an unknown force froze her solid, forcing her to stay peering into the dark wood.**

**The moment she felt the man's** **slender fingers wrap gently around her neck**, she woke with a start.

_Damn,_ she hated that dream.

It took a brief and anxious moment before she landed back in reality, first becoming scathingly aware of the darkness, then her dry throat, and finally recognising her brand new bedroom. That being said, it wasn't truly _hers_ yet - whilst she was its new inhabitant, nearly everything inside had been left there by the previous tenant, John.

An empty chest-of-drawers, a cleared desk and the bed were the main features, and, whilst unused and dusty, they were greatly appreciated. Jenna had sold most of her own furniture whilst living back at her old flat, in order to try to raise the money for her mother's surgery. Although Sherlock and Mycroft were grumpy - and that was an understatement - she thought she would at least be able to live comfortably alongside them.

She checked her phone for the time: 4:16 am. Damn it - now she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and she needed a good night in order to make an early start. She didn't have a specific hour that she had to be up the next morning, but she _did_ want to get set on unpacking her things and cleaning the room as soon as possible. After all, Mycroft was dropping in later in the day and she wanted him to think she was settling in well.

She squirmed, desperately seeking a more comfortable position, but it was no use; she was too thirsty and the bed was too humid. There was no way she would fall back to sleep. Sighing, Jenna kicked away her too-hot bed covers and sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were musty, heavy with dust and age - those, too, she thought, had probably been John's. She decided that she should at least use the time she had to be productive and get rid of the sheets, but first, she really needed a drink.

Feeling her way blindly in the darkness, Jenna made her way out of her room and into the hallway, before stumbling into the kitchen.

Sherlock sat there in the darkness, staring intently at some unnameable part of his makeshift lab. He didn't even look up, but Jenna felt his eyes boring into her, judging her. She suddenly felt very conscious of her clothing - a doctor who nightie - and pulled it down so that it covered up more of her thighs.

"Where did you pop off to then?" His gaze remained fixated on his work.

"What do you mean? I went to bed nearly five hours ago."

Only then did he raise his eyes to meet hers, and they were as ice cold in darkness as they had been in daylight. "What time is it?"

"About 4:30, I think. I mean, I'm not sure, 'cause I only checked when I woke up but I think that was about quarter of an-"

"Oh. I haven't been to bed yet, I thought it was earlier. You really should tell me these things. I didn't notice that you left - you're... quiet."

And with that, Sherlock returned his attention to his equipment.

"So..." Jenna chirped, albeit nervously, as she flitted around the room to grab a glass of water. "John left a lot of stuff here."

Sherlock almost seemed to tense up at the mention of the name. "Yes."

"I take it those bedsheets are his as well, do you think he'll want them back or am I okay to throw them out? They're kind of old."

Sherlock inhaled sharply, tensing up more considerably this time. "Miss Nightingale, I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn't touch things that aren't _yours._"

Crap! Had she offended him somehow? "Oh, sorry, but I just thought that whilst I'm living here, I might be able to move some of my own stuff in..."

"Yes, well '_living_ here' is a little too permanent for my liking. Besides, John '_lived_' here and he's not around any more, so I see no reason why a stranger like you would stick around any longer. Don't move his things."

"Well, I'm sorry if I-"

"And in future, do tell me when my brother is due to make a visit. It's hard on me enough when I have to see him, but much worse when I'm not expecting it."

Jenna could feel herself growing more and more anxious, clenching her teeth together in an attempt to remain calm. "And how did you find out about Mycroft's visit, exactly?"

"Well the passcode to your phone wasn't exactly unbreakable. Your birthday? Please. Rookie mistake."

The absurdity of the situation dawned on Jenna in that moment, so she simply turned and walked back the way she came. Arguing with an odd man over a _duvet_ was not how she had envisioned London life.

A few hours passed as she sat in John's old room, unpacking and sorting her belongings. Whether it was to get organised or to piss Sherlock off, she was unsure, but it felt pretty fulfilling either way. As dusk grew into a dim Autumn morning, she finally heard the door to the flat slam shut, and she knew that he had left.

He hadn't said where he was going, nor the time he would be back, but why would he? Sherlock honestly seemed to loathe her, and his absence was a relief. She would at least be able to tidy the rest of the flat with him out of the way.

Some time later, whilst Jenna was removing some clothes Sherlock had left in a pile on the floor, Mrs Hudson carried in a tray with two cups of tea.

"Oh, good morning, dear! How was your first night?"

Jenna didn't realise she was doing it, but she must have made a face, as Mrs Hudson chuckled slightly.

"Don't worry, he's like that with everyone. He'll get used to you, I'm sure."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson. And thanks for the tea." Jenna picked up a mug and began to sip. "I'm actually unsure where Sherlock is. He left about an hour ago and didn't say where he was off to."

Mrs Hudson seemed to be deep in thought about the situation. She was such a lovely lady, Jenna thought - why, then, did she care so much about this ridiculous man?

"Mrs Hudson, could I ask you something please? About Sherlock?"

"Of course, as long as it's not about his experiments. I haven't the foggiest idea what he gets up to."

Jenna laughed, a little nervously. "No, no. Um, it's actually about John. Sherlock has been acting really weird whenever I mention him. I know that he used to live here, and that he left to go and live with his wife and kid, but I don't know why Sherlock is being so uptight about it." There was a small, silent pause, and Jenna began to pick at her nails in discomfort.

"Well, dear," Mrs Hudson finally began to reply, "He's very much set in his ways. He hates change. So, when John got married and began to spend less time with him... well, it hit him quite badly."

"Oh."

"I'm sure he'll be grateful for your company. He just needs some time to get used to the idea of you being around. Now, I must be off! I'll see you soon, darling. Chin up, things will get easier!"

The two new friends hugged briefly before parting, Jenna sat down again to finish her tea. What Mrs Hudson had said about Sherlock made her think about him.

There was something very sad about his inability to cope without his friend, and that was probably why he had gotten so irritated at her moving in - Sherlock didn't want to fully accept the idea that he was gone for good. Either that, or he'd heard Jenna singing in the shower the previous evening, and didn't approve. The thought made her chuckle.

With a small sigh, Jenna decided that she ought to forgive Sherlock if he was snappy with her again. After all, he wasn't as bad as Mycroft.

...Ugh. _Mycroft_. He was going to arrive soon, and she realised that there was a strong possibility that Sherlock may not be back in time for the visit. She hoped that would be the case - she didn't want Mycroft to know that Sherlock hated her guts.

Just as she finished up with dinner, there was a knock at the door.

Jenna bounded over and flung it open. Sherlock loomed in the doorway, and Jenna was taken aback. She had expected Mycroft, umbrella in hand and smarmy smile plastered on his face. Instead, the younger Holmes stood in his place, stiff and distant. Jenna wondered where he had been all day.

He said nothing, striding into the flat and slumping down in his chair. Jenna stood by, unsure of what to say. After what seemed to be an age, she edged nearer to him and spoke softly.

"I made you some dinner. It's just on the side."

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the floor, and his jaw was clenched. He did not reply to her. Jenna could feel an apology churning in her stomach - she did not want to bring up their argument again, especially when Mycroft would be arriving any moment. However, the words came spilling out before she could stop herself.

"I'm really sorry about the bed sheet thing last night."

More silence.

"I don't want to get in your way, but- I really want to get along well here. I know that you're pissed off that I'm accepting money in order to live with you, but you know I need it for my mum, and I think you're being a little unreasonable."

Sherlock unclenched his jaw and he shifted a little. After what seemed like an age, he looked up at her, and their eyes met.

Jenna and Sherlock may not have gotten along, but in that moment she had to concede that he was incredibly handsome. At the mention of John he had softened. His unclouded blue eyes were inquisitive under a furrowed brow, and the hardness of his stare melted away. There was something gentler in his expression - empathy, perhaps? He sighed and turned away again, before rubbing his temples.

"I went to visit my friend today. John." Jenna's eyes widened at the name, but she decided to say nothing. "He said you're welcome to anything he left here, and-"

Sherlock was cut off by a loud knock at the door.

"Oh yes. Mycroft. How fantastic." Sherlock's sarcasm made Jenna smile a little. Finally, something they could agree on! He rose to his feet to go and open the door to his brother.

Mycroft stepped into the room as cocksure as ever, briefly scanning the room before fixing his eyes on Jenna. His smile was forced and cold.

"Miss Nightingale," he purred, "So wonderful to see you again."

"You too. May I take your coat?"

"No, no. I shan't be staying long; I'm far too busy. You know how it is, when you've got a high-ranking job. Or... perhaps not."

Jenna chose to ignore Mycroft's insult, and smiled as sweetly as she could. "Shame - I've made dinner."

She noticed that Sherlock seemed to be thoroughly entertained by her and Mycroft's quick-fire conversation, his eyes flickering in-between them as if he was watching a tennis match.

"Well," he piped up for the first time since Mycroft's arrival, "I'm not so sure that Mycroft's waistline would call it a shame."

Mycroft pretended he had not heard his brother and smoothly twisted around to face him, the same thin-lipped smile on his face.

"Sherlock - how are you?"

"Fine."

Mycroft gave a hollow laugh. "Is that all I get? One word?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Has Miss Nightingale's first day with you been adequate?"

Jenna instantly dreaded Sherlock's response, certain that he was about to give a damning account of their late-night argument. She felt that she needed to give the two men some kind of privacy, awkwardly shuffling out of their way and sitting down at the kitchen table with her face buried in her phone.

"Mycroft," Sherlock murmured, as if he didn't want Jenna to hear him, "I don't appreciate this."

"Well you mustn't be left unsupervised, Sherlock. I suppose that I could find someone more suitable, but-"

"No. That's not what I mean."

"Oh?" Mycroft seemed taken aback, and Jenna peered over at the pair.

"Granted, I'm not entirely keen on the idea of her being paid to stay here, but you're clearly antagonizing her."

Jenna was grateful that Sherlock had began to stand up for her, but she had never been the type of girl to let a man talk on her behalf, and she certainly wasn't about to start. Neither brother noticed as she rose to her feet, but both whipped their heads around as she began to speak.

"What did you mean by 'suitable'?"

"Pardon?" Mycroft seemed to be exasperated by the sound of her voice alone, but Jenna didn't care.

"You said, 'I could find someone more suitable'. What did you mean by that?"

Sherlock had fallen silent again, content to watch the battle once more. Mycroft smirked. "To put it bluntly, Miss Nightingale - you're not my brother's usual kind of affiliate."

"No?"

"No. He seems to like to surround himself with doctors; detectives. Not small-time government interns."

"So, I'm too thick. Is that what you're saying?"

"Don't be offended. Everyone is 'thick' to us."

Jenna scoffed, and crossed her arms. Hugging them tight into her chest, she let out a shaky breath. "You know what, Mycroft? I have _really _tried. I really wanted this to be a good meeting because I wanted to impress you. I've made you dinner, which you don't care about. I've cleaned this place up, which you haven't even noticed. And now you're calling me stupid - who gave you the right?"

"Well, I think-"

"Let me let you in on a secret - I have had _plenty _of job offers in the last year. Good ones. I only stayed with you in order to stay close to my mum. Don't act like I was your last resort, because I can tell you that it was always the other way around."

Mycroft smirked. He seemed oddly pleased at Jenna's defiance, and she looked him in the eyes for the first time that evening. They were crinkled at the corners with an odd, quiet kind of happiness.

"I must be off, but everything seems to be in order here. I'll show myself out. Goodbye, Miss Nightingale. Sherlock." Mycroft nodded, before turning swiftly on his feel and striding out.

When he was out of sight, Sherlock turned to Jenna, before letting out a genuine, throaty laugh.

"You don't need to take the piss out of me. I know I've messed it all up." Jenna slumped back in the kitchen chair, burying her head in her hands. Sherlock made his way over to her, still wheezing a little.

"You should have seen the look on Mycroft's face!" Jenna only groaned, so he continued. "I actually think that went rather well."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Sherlock grabbed the now cold plate of food that Jenna had prepared for him and began to tuck in."Not necessarily. Mycroft and I - we get bored very easily. I think he's going to keep you around. You're entertaining to him."

"How so?"

"You challenged what he said."

"So did you." There was a brief moment of silence. "Why did you stand up for me?"

"Don't take it personally. Mycroft was getting on my nerves and I wanted to put him in his place."

"Oh. Okay then." Jenna didn't question his reply, but secretly hoped that his visit to John had actually warmed him up to the idea of a new room mate. After all, he seemed pretty thoughtful when he came home. Then again, Sherlock had looked pretty thoughtful every time Jenna had seen him.

At that moment, his phone rang. He held up one finger to Jenna to tell her to give her him a minute, before speaking.

"Hello, Mycroft. You only just left, why ring me so soon? ...Yes, I'm alone." He shot Jenna a quick look. Mycroft obviously wanted to talk to his brother in private, but she stayed put. "...Well, thank you for your input." He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

"What did he say?"

Sherlock smiled at her, and for the first time, it seemed to be genuine.

"Good luck."


	4. A Nightingale for Miss Nightingale

If there was one thing that Jenna was certain of, it was that living at 221b had a very steep learning curve. Within a couple of days, she had been told not to eat anything on the bottom two shelves of the fridge unless she wanted to commit cannibalism, and had been reminded no less than four times that Mrs Hudson was not their housekeeper.

Not to mention, Sherlock complained a lot. Jenna's argument with Mycroft seemed to have made him warm to her ever so slightly, and he had stopped going out of his way to criticise her. He was still very snappy, though. When Jenna asked him to remove her slippers from the microwave, he had retorted by asking her to remove her tattoo.

Jenna was unsure how he knew about the tiny brown bird on her hip - he had probably 'deduced' it. Sure, Sherlock's deductions were incredibly impressive, but she wasn't about to tell him that, especially when he had embarrassed her by telling her that she was constipated. She hadn't really appreciated that.

On Jenna's third next morning at the flat, Mrs Hudson appeared at the door holding a phone.

"Yes, dear - yes - yes, I'll just pass you over." Taking it away from her ear, she held it out to Jenna. "Good morning dear, I've got a call for Sherlock."

"Oh - I think he's still asleep."

"But it's 11am!" Jenna only shrugged, and Mrs Hudson handed her the phone before toddling back down the stairs, giggling about Sherlock's laziness.

"Hello?"

"Oh. Hi. Who's this?" The man sounded surprised - Jenna thought that it may have been because he anticipated Sherlock's deep baritone rather than her chirpy voice.

"Sorry, I'm Jenna. I'm Sherlock's new flatmate."

"...Oh right. Sorry, I didn't know that anyone had moved in. I'm DI Lestrade; you can call me Greg. Is Sherlock there? I tried ringing him on his mobile but he didn't answer."

"Um, I think he's asleep at the moment. Would you like me to pass anything on?"

"Yeah, can you tell him that we could really do with him over at Scotland Yard? I know that he hasn't taken on a case in a while, but we're pretty stumped on this one."

"Yeah, sure."

"How is Sherlock? I've not seen him in a long time." There was an edge of concern hidden under Lestrade's casual tone.

"I only met him three days ago, so I'm not really sure what he's normally like, but he's been..." Jenna chose her words carefully, considering that Lestrade seemed to be Sherlock's friend. "A tiny bit difficult."

"Are you sure that's all? Usually he's a bit of an arsehole."

Jenna chuckled. "I guess that's another way to put it, yeah."

"No change there, then. Well, just let him know I called. Nice to speak to you, Jenna."

"Will do. Thanks, Greg."

An hour passed, and Sherlock still showed no signs of stirring. It was midday already, and Jenna had things to do. She wanted to get out of the flat, go for a walk, and pick up some food from the supermarket.

"Sherlock," She called out, knocking on his bedroom door. It had 'Keep Out' signs on it, like a child's room. Maybe that's what Sherlock really was - a big child. Jenna imagined him sat cross-legged on the floor, playing with toy soldiers. She knocked again.

He quickly opened the door, coming face-to-face with Jenna. Or, rather, chest-to-face. At 5′4″, Jenna barely reached the detective's shoulders, so found herself staring into his - bare - chest. She took an awkward step back as she processed his nakedness, averting her eyes and staring at the floor.

"Um... Do you mind... uh... Can you please put some clothes on?"

"I am wearing clothes!"

She glanced back up. He looked utterly dishevelled, as if he had literally just rolled out of bed. A white bed sheet covered the lower half of his body.

"...That's not clothing."

"Well, it was good enough for Buckingham Palace."

"Pardon?"

"Long story. What do you want? I was asleep."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jenna gestured to Sherlock's attire, keeping her eyes focused on his face so that he wouldn't think she was looking at his body. "Your friend Greg called. He said that they need you over at Scotland Yard."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't have a friend called Greg."

"Are you sure? Because he sounded like he knows you pretty well. Greg Lestrade?"

"Oh, you must have misheard. His name is Gavin."

"Oh. But I'm sure that he said-"

"Did he say anything about the case?"

"Uh, no. No, I don't think so. He just said that you hadn't taken anything on in a while."

Sherlock sighed. "I've been busy."

Busy people don't sleep in until noon, Jenna thought, but she bit her tongue. "He said that they're really stuck. I reckon they can't do it without you."

That seemed to pique his interest, and Sherlock cocked his head like a curious puppy.

"Mm, you're probably right about that. I'll do it."

He backed into his room and slammed the door shut. Jenna knew that flattering him would get him interested in the case. As much as Sherlock irritated her, there was no harm in complimenting him now and again, especially if it helped him to get on with his life.

It wouldn't be hard to come up with nice things to say about him, either. Not with those cheekbones, and those eyes, and...

Nope! Stop right there! Jenna shook her head, as if she was trying to flick away any further attraction to him. Sherlock was a tosser, plain and simple, and she refused to try and find a good person in him that obviously wasn't there.

I've made that mistake before, she thought, with a quiet sigh.

Sherlock left before long, disappearing down the stairs in a flash. The flat felt oddly empty without him - he seemed to take its quirkiness away as he left, leaving nothing but a sombre, dusty space. Jenna decided that she needed to stretch her legs, and made her way out of 221b.

As she walked out onto the pavement, a man got out of a taxi and went up to the front door. That was odd - Jenna hadn't seen him around before. He knocked and called out to Mrs Hudson, before turning to leave when there was no answer.

Was he a client? Jenna felt like she ought to approach him.

"Hi," she mumbled, giving a feeble wave. Ugh, she felt so awkward.

The man smiled at her, warmly, and she felt more at ease. "Hi - did you see anyone leave from this flat? Only I've come to give something to my mate, and he doesn't seem to be in."

"You mean Sherlock?"

The man raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Yes."

"I can give it to him if you'd like. My name is Jenna. I'm his new flatmate."

"Oh, you're Jenna! Yeah, no, I've heard all about you!" His face broke into a grin and he held out a hand, which Jenna hesitantly shook. "I'm John."

Jenna joined John in grinning. She had imagined him to be just like the detective; instead, he was friendly, warm and approachable. How on Earth were they best friends?

"Would you like to come inside?"

A few minutes later, the two sat drinking tea. "So," Jenna said, in-between sips, "How did you manage to survive living here for so long? I've been here a couple of days and I'm pretty sure I've almost died ten times."

John chuckled. "Yeah, that's just what it's like, I'm afraid. Never a dull moment."

"So, you said he talked about me. Good things?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a no."

"Don't worry. Just take everything he says with a pinch of salt. Has he taken you on a case yet?"

"No. This one is apparently his first case in ages."

"Oh. Sherlock is - was - really enthusiastic about his work. He used to badger me for days if he couldn't find a case."

"He told me he was too busy."

"Mmm." John didn't seem too convinced.

"Did something happen between you two? It's just, Mrs Hudson said that-"

John sighed. "No. Not quite. Sherlock and I were best friends. We still are, but... He went away, for a long time. Things were different when he came back. He tried to cope with it, but when Mary and I started my family - well, I don't see him much anymore."

"He went to visit you yesterday, though, right?"

"For the first time in months. The last time I saw him was when my daughter was born. Not to mention..." He pulled out a pair of leather gloves from his bag. "He left these at our house."

"Are those what you wanted to bring him?"

"Yeah, but here's the thing: Sherlock does not forget stuff. He left these on purpose. I think he's trying to find excuses to talk to me."

"Why?"

"My guess is that he feels he's getting in the way - that he's unwanted." John obviously knew Sherlock incredibly well; he had known him for years. To Jenna, though, the insecure and sensitive man John described seemed worlds away from the Sherlock Holmes she knew. John seemed to pick up on her confusion, and added, "He's different, once you get to know him."

Jenna hoped so. "I'm sure he is."

"Listen, this is my number," John ripped a strip off of a newspaper and wrote it down. "Don't be a stranger. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He handed it to Jenna, who folded it up and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.

John stood up from his chair, setting his empty mug on the table. "I've got to get going, but why don't you and Sherlock come over tomorrow evening for some dinner? It would be nice for you to meet Mary, and it might make Sherlock feel more comfortable with us."

Jenna also rose to her feet, walking John to the door. "I'd really like that, thank you."

"See you later, Jenna."

"Bye, John."

After John's visit, Jenna's mind was busy, and she wandered aimlessly through London. The crisp Autumn air bit at her nose and fingertips, clearing away the mustiness of 221b from her mind and allowing her to think clearly for the first time in days.

Did Sherlock really feel insecure? He seemed more machine than man; his entire personality was based on confidence. And yet, there was something incredibly vulnerable about him. Jenna couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she was sure it had something to do with those hard, cold, sad eyes.

As the brisk grey day faded into a chill evening, Jenna went back to Baker Street. Sherlock was back, sitting in his chair and reading the newspaper.

"How was the case?" She asked, as she hung up her scarf and woolly hat.

"Solved it. It was the pet snake." He continued to read the paper, but pointed at the leather gloves over on the kitchen table. "Where did you get those from?"

"John came over. You left them at his house."

Sherlock seemed perplexed, resting the paper on his lap. "You met John?"

"Yeah, he's really lovely. And he wants to know if you'd like to go over for dinner tomorrow night."

"Really?" Sherlock attempted to hide a small smile, and Jenna felt like she had achieved something big by making him a tiny bit happier.

"Of course," She confirmed. "It'll be really nice to speak to him again."

"You mean you're coming?" Sherlock stiffened Jenna's words, clearly disillusioned with the idea of his two flatmates spending time together.

"Yeah - I thought it would be nice for us all to get to know each other a little better."

Sherlock closed his eyes tight, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was suffering from a headache. That's probably what he thinks of me as, Jenna thought. A headache. A minor annoyance.

"No, you're not coming." He sounded exasperated, and Jenna could feel anger rising within herself.

"Is that your decision to make?" She grit her teeth, expecting his reply to make her blood boil. Jenna had never been good at controlling her emotions - especially anger - but Sherlock irritated her more than anyone she had ever met.

"Yes, I think it is, when it concerns my friend. You're getting too involved with him."

"I'm a grown woman, and I won't let someone control me."

"But you have in the past, haven't you?" Sherlock's eyes were stormy and dark.

"What do you mean?"

"Your 'fiancé,'" Sherlock said, spitting the word out like venom. Jenna trembled with rage. No-one knew about Zack apart from her, her family, and the police.

She balled her hands into fists, resisting the urge to punch the detective in his smug face. "Very clever, Sherlock," she hissed, "But don't you think that John controls you? He goes and has a kid and you let your life fall apart, is that it?"

"Well, your mother getting cancer certainly made your life fall apart, didn't it?"

Jenna was done.

She left the flat in a flurry of tears and curse words, bundling herself out onto the street. Shutting herself into a phone box, she gasped for breath in-between sobs. How dare he say that?

As soon as the initial tide of tears had ebbed, Jenna's trembling fingers dialled the most familiar number she knew.

It rang a couple of times, before a fragile voice on the other end broke the silence.

"Hello?"

"Hi mum. How are you today?"

"Oh, hello love. Not my best day, not my worst. I won't let it get the better of me."

Jenna smiled weakly. "Of course you won't."

"Anyway, more importantly - how's life at the new flat?"

"Mum, that isn't more import-"

"Well, it's more important to me. Is everything going well?"

Jenna knew that she mustn't let her mum know that she was struggling. It would only cause her unnecessary worry. "…Yeah. Of course."

"And this bloke you've moved in with..." Her mum lowered her voice, as if she was trying to share a secret. "Is he hot?"

Jenna laughed. At least her mum hadn't lost her sense of humour. "Sherlock? Hot? He's... Well, he's something, all right."

"Oh, is he? Well, you bring him up to the hospital soon." There was a couple of moments of coughing, then silence. "Babe, I'm going to go. I'm exhausted and I'm going to get an early night, but it was great hearing from you. We'll speak soon. Love you lots."

"Love you too, mum." Jenna hung up the phone. She had all but decided to leave 221b that night. How could she be so foolish? She would be jobless, homeless, and helpless. She needed to stay there, just until her mum recovered.

She didn't want to face Sherlock just yet. Sucking in a lungful of the chilling London air, Jenna fished John's number from her jeans.

"Hi John, am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. No. Sherlock and I had a massive argument and I think it's best that I don't come for dinner tomorrow."

"Honestly, it would be best if you came. What did he say?"

"He said he didn't want me to come and then he made a comment about my mum. She has cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Jenna replied, but it really wasn't.

"Listen - he probably tried to stop you from coming because he's afraid that you'll become friends. Sherlock... well. He's concerned that he'll be left behind by people. He doesn't trust others very easily."

"I can see that." Jenna sniffled a bit. "How did you become friends, John? You seem so different."

John gave a small chuckle. "With lots of time and patience. The thing is, Sherlock doesn't feel things the way we do. I'm not making excuses for him, but that's why he can be so insensitive sometimes. He doesn't know he's hurting people."

"No. You're right. Thanks John. Sorry for bothering you."

"Not at all."

Sherlock was sat in the same spot upon Jenna's return to the flat. He looked at her expectantly, almost as if he was bracing himself for something.

"I was going to leave," Jenna admitted, shuffling her feet.

"I know." Sherlock's usually rich voice sounded paper-thin.

"I didn't, though. I want to stay, and..."

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"The comment about your mother wasn't justified. It was wrong, and I apologise."

Jenna nodded, blinking back tears. "You're right, it was wrong. But I'm sorry, too." Sherlock didn't reply. "You said something about my ex-fiancé, Zack. How did toy know?"

Sherlock sighed. "I worked out about the fiancé from the things you moved into the flat. And the scar on your collarbone."

"Yeah. He put me in hospital with that one."

"But you're free of him now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I told the police and they finally locked him up. That's why I got the tattoo. I'm free as a bird."

"A nightingale for Miss Nightingale." Sherlock murmured, and he smiled almost warmly. Jenna knew that he was doing his best to be friendly to her, especially as she had just opened up to him. She was glad.

"Well, I'm exhausted. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Night."

Jenna lay awake for another hour or so. She thought about how Sherlock had looked when she came back through the door, like he had been shocked that she hadn't given up on him.

Maybe that was why he was so touchy about John. He felt like he'd been abandoned, and was convinced that she would do the same. Had her decision to stay at 221b helped Sherlock to trust her? Would he be more open with her now?

With a new sense of sympathy for her flatmate, Jenna Nightingale began to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, she thought, as her eyes grew heavy, I'm going to work out if we can be friends.

Little did she know, Sherlock was thinking the very same thing.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you all so much for reading. From now on, I'm going to try and update this story every weekend, so please keep your eyes peeled for further chapters. My guideline for chapters is about 3000 words. If you feel like you would rather shorter chapters, or you have any other suggestions about the story, please let me know and I will do my best to change/include it.**

**Although I have tried to be subtle, I would like to make it clear at this point that Jenna is a former victim of domestic violence. This will feature fairly prominently in future chapters, as I feel that it's an important issue which ought to be addressed more often.**

**Thank you again, and as always, please leave a review and favourite. It always puts a smile on my face!**


	5. Author's Note: Merry Christmas (Updated)

Hello everyone, and merry Christmas.

I've been thinking a lot about the story, and I promise that I'll update soon. Please forgive my absence - I've found it really hard to write about Jenna recently. You see, a short while after the last chapter, my nan got diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma.

Of course, Jenna's mum has cancer in the story, and, as it's an extremely serious illness, it certainly wasn't just going to be a throwaway plot point. I had a whole storyline planned out, and had written the majority of the next chapter when my nan was diagnosed.

Since then, I've found it pretty difficult to even think about continuing the cancer storyline. I just feel like I can't really commit to writing about the subject when someone I love is actually going through it.

My nan is okay, and she's definitely getting back to herself. We're all certain that she will pull through just fine, because she's a pretty damn strong lady. Until we know for sure, however, I probably won't be mentioning it in the story.

Jenna hasn't forgotten about her mum, and I did not use the illness as a plot point to move her into the story, because it's not true. Jenna's mum will return, and the storyline will be completed, but it's just a bit too difficult for me to do at the moment. I'm sorry about that.

With any luck, a new chapter will be posted within a week or so. I'm going to have to rewrite it, as it was originally all about her mum, but I have an idea which I think will be fun.

In the meantime, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, and that you all love the Sherlock special. I'm so excited!

Thank you for your patience ~ x ~


	6. Dinner with the Watsons

"Knock knock!"

A chirpy voice snatched Jenna from her contemplation, and she set the dress down onto her bed. She could tell from the cheeriness of the words that they had been spoken by none other than her landlady, and she had no issue with her entering the bedroom.

"Come in, Mrs Hudson."

The older woman did so, a tray of tea and toast in her hands. She put it down onto Jenna's bedside table, before handing her a mug.

"There you go, dear. I figured you could do with some cheering up - I heard you and Sherlock arguing last night."

"Thank you," Jenna smiled, perching on the end of her bed and taking a sip of her tea. "Sorry if we made too much noise. We had a bit of a misunderstanding, and it ended in a shouting match."

Mrs Hudson sat down next to her. "Oh, you shouldn't worry. You wouldn't believe some of the things he and John used to get up to." She chuckled, then gestured towards the dress laid out next to her. "This is lovely."

Jenna was certain that Mrs Hudson was exaggerating. Granted, the dress had been very pretty in the past, the deep blue material once flattering against her bright skin and dark hair. That had been years ago, before Zack. The dress - and her looks - had become faded, and she hadn't felt 'lovely' in a very long time.

"Thank you."

"What's the occasion - are you going on a date?"

"No!" Jenna snorted in laughter, imagining herself and Sherlock going out on a date. "I've been invited round John's for dinner tonight."

"Oh, that will be nice. Don't worry - I shan't tell Sherlock."

"What do you mean? He's coming with me."

"Oh." Mrs Hudson frowned. "That's odd."

"Why?"

"I thought that Sherlock wouldn't want to see John again." Mrs Hudson pursed her lips and sighed. "Honestly, I don't think I'll ever understand those boys. One minute they're living together, then they claim they're not gay, then they're running around solving mysteries together again! I can't keep up."

Jenna blinked incredulously at her friend, absorbing what she had just been told. "You mean Sherlock and John were together?"

Mrs Hudson nodded. "I'm certain."

Jenna couldn't believe she hadn't realised that before. It was difficult to imagine So many things made sense now: Sherlock's grumpiness; John's desire to have him back in his life...

Then it dawned on her, and she winced. "That's going to be one hell of an awkward dinner."

Mrs Hudson stood up, gathering her tray and the empty mugs. "That's why I assumed Sherlock wouldn't be going. Still - if this helps him to make peace with John's decision, then I'm sure it can only be a good thing."

"Yeah. Thanks for the chat, Mrs Hudson."

Jenna sat quietly as Mrs Hudson left, her mind a swirling mess of emotions. Most prominently, she was surprised. She had always taken Sherlock's supposed 'love' for John to be platonic, so that was understandable.

The real question was the niggling sense of disappointment she felt in the pit of her stomach. She had never been any kind of homophobe. When she found out her brother was gay, she had helped him to come out, and had been the first person to congratulate him when he did. Why, then, did she feel disheartened when she imagined Sherlock doing the same?

Jenna quickly blamed her emotions on her nerves about the upcoming dinner - she felt like she would mess it up, especially now she knew about John and Sherlock's past - and tried to make herself busy.

With no real job other than to 'keep an eye' on a grown man, Jenna longed for something to do. She wanted to work for her money, but knew that it simply wouldn't pay as much as Mycroft could offer her to stay at 221B. Still, she had to find a new hobby, or else she felt she might go insane.

After lounging around for what seemed like an age, she had an idea. Jumping up, she felt more alive at the very prospect of what she was about to do: she hadn't sung in years, and she had an empty flat.

Bursting into the living room, she began to belt out some of her old favourites, crooning her way through her catalogue in bliss. Sure, she wasn't pitch perfect - she hadn't sung since the good old days of school plays and concerts - but she felt an immense joy at the sound of her old instrument being fired up again.

After what seemed like hours of fun, a contented Jenna collapsed onto her bed. She hadn't felt so carefree in a long time. Absent-mindedly, she circled her nightingale tattoo with her thumb, recalling what Sherlock had said to her after their argument the previous night.

You're free now, aren't you? A nightingale for Miss Nightingale.

A soft smile formed on her lips as she remembered Sherlock's words. Just as she realised that it was accompanied, once again, with disappointment, the man himself stuck his head round her door.

"Sherlock!" Jenna almost jumped out of her skin, quickly pulling her hand away from her hip. "I thought you were out!"

"I was out."

"But - how long have you been back? Did you hear me-"

"Did I hear you what?"

Jenna sighed, rubbing her temples. Thank god. She could only imagine the teasing she would get from Sherlock if he had heard her blasting out show tunes in the kitchen. "It doesn't matter."

"I wanted to know if you're ready to go to John's yet." He looked at her outfit, and Jenna crossed her arms in discomfort.

"I have no clue what to wear." The old blue dress would make her feel self-conscious, but showing up in a hoodie and jeans would make her feel silly. It was an insecurity fuelled catch-22. "What are you going in? It might give me an idea."

Sherlock stepped into the room, allowing Jenna to see his outfit for the first time. He wore a tight, purple shirt with smart black trousers. It wasn't the most formal of attires, but he usually hung around the flat in scruffy t-shirts and dressing gowns, so it was a welcomed change. In short, he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him, and his smirk proved to her that he knew it.

Sherlock clapped his hands, bringing the short silence to an end. "You should hurry up."

"We don't have to leave for another-"

"I'd like to avoid the traffic." His expression was as cool and confident as ever, but Jenna couldn't help but detect a glimmer of unease in his voice.

"Are you nervous?" Jenna had meant her question to sound caring, but it still took him aback.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well-" Jenna tried to grasp at some explanation other than the fact that Mrs Hudson had told her about Sherlock and John's past, as she doubted that Sherlock would appreciate their gossiping. "You just seem a bit eager to get it over and done with, that's all. And I know that you didn't want me to get too involved with John and Mary, so..."

"...So, you concluded that I must be nervous about tonight?" Jenna nodded. "Just a tip, Miss Nightingale: leave the deductions to me. Y our method isn't quite right, and you're missing a very important detail." Despite the formality of Sherlock's words, there was a gentle bounciness to them which suggested that the detective was not entirely serious.

"What would that be?"

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't get 'nervous.'" He spun out of the room, before calling out to Jenna from the hallway: "I'm going to call for a cab to arrive in thirty minutes. Be ready, or I'll be leaving without you."

A few minutes later she was viewing herself in the mirror, smoothing down the old lace over her stomach. In her mind, it was as if the dress was consciously trying to look bad on her - it felt too tight around her belly, and too baggy around her chest. Despite all of her insecurities, it would have to make do. After she covered her dark circles with foundation and added some eye liner, she was as ready as she would ever be.

"You look... different," said Sherlock, as Jenna entered the living room. "Although, I suppose that's to be expected. You've worn the same two pairs of jeans for a week."

"I do wash them." Jenna snorted, and sat down on the chair opposite his. "Besides, you're not much better. I've never seen you leave the flat in anything other than that coat and scarf."

"...Touché."

The journey to John's was a quiet one. Sherlock seemed to be steeling himself, mentally preparing for the evening ahead. Jenna didn't know how to respond. Should she comfort him? Tell him that she knew about his and John's relationship? She decided to just flash him reassuring smiles instead, which only seemed to perplex him.

John and Mary's house wasn't too far away, and, before long, Sherlock and Jenna were standing on their front step. She crossed her arms tight, as if to keep all of her worries from spilling out. How on Earth would she be able to look Mary in the eye with the knowledge that Sherlock was in love with her husband?

"Sherlock!" The lady was blonde, bright and bubbly. She tried to pull him in for a hug, which he deftly avoided, before turning to Jenna. "You must be the new flatmate! I'm Mary, John's wife. Please, come inside."

The interior of the house seemed about as warm as John and Mary themselves, and Jenna was thankful for the change of scenery - as much as 221B's 'rustic charm' had grown on her during her time there, it was nice to set foot in a living space that didn't look as though it was set in a museum or crime scene.

"Thank you for inviting us over," Jenna said, as she handed Mary her coat. "You have a lovely home."

Mary grinned and thanked her in response, before leading the duo towards the kitchen, where John stood preparing their meal. He set down his knife on the counter, then turned around and beamed at them.

"Hi. I'm glad you guys could make it." He nodded at Jenna, and she recalled their phone conversation from the night before. John had urged her to come, because he wanted Sherlock to be more comfortable with her.

He wants Sherlock to make more friends, Jenna thought, sadly. He wants to make up for the fact that he had to leave.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Soon after, everyone was sat at the dinner table, tucking into a rather delicious roast dinner. The evening's conversation had been fairly pleasant. Mostly, they had discussed John and Mary's daughter (who had been put to bed shortly before Jenna and Sherlock's arrival) and Jenna's life at 221B so far.

She had nearly forgotten about John and Sherlock's failed relationship, until John grew more comfortable, and began to tease his old flatmate.

"I can't believe you managed to get him out of the flat early," he laughed. "Honestly Jenna, you must have a magic touch, because I never managed to do that."

Sherlock smirked in response, but remained quiet. Was he sad, remembering the old days when he and John were together? Silences had always made Jenna feel nervous. As a result of this, she often found herself saying something incoherent or silly in order to fill the void.

She laughed nervously, wringing her hands together. "It was actually his choice to leave early. I don't control him."

"Don't worry, Jenna," John chuckled, "No one could ever accuse you of controlling him; I'm pretty sure it's impossible. Sherlock Holmes is a law unto himself."

Jenna forced a laugh, and it came out too hard. "I'm sure you're right. Sherlock can do anything he likes." In her anxious state, she figured that this would be the perfect time to make it clear to everyone that she was totally open-minded. "We can all do whatever we like. And - people can go out with whoever they like, be it a woman or a man."

In the corner of her vision, Jenna thought she saw John raise his eyebrows. She felt her heart beat faster, and words began to spill out of her mouth again.

"Talking of being free to express ourselves, you know who I've missed since moving to London? My brother Freddie. He's gay. He's so great. Gay people are so great."

"Are you all right?" Mary gently placed a hand on Jenna's arm, a look of concern on her face. "You seem a little bit flustered."

"I'm fine, thanks," Jenna assured her, but she was betrayed by her trembling hands. "Do you know what isn't fine? Homophobia."

She knew it was a weird thing to say as soon as the sentence tumbled into being. Just as the embarrassment seemed too much to bear, John cleared his throat, thawing the heavy atmosphere.

"Right. I'm just going to go and get some wine. Jenna, would you mind helping me pick some out?"

Jenna hastily followed him into the kitchen, chastising herself for being so obvious in her attempts to make her feelings known. In fact, she was sure that John was going to argue with her about the very same thing, as he pulled her aside and started to speak in a hushed tone.

"Listen, Jenna, about all the gay references..."

She bit her lip. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to make things less awkward but I only made them worse."

John shook his head in disagreement, and put a reassuring hand on Jenna's shoulder. "You have no reason to apologise. If you're gay, you don't have to feel bad or drop loads of hints around us. Please feel free to be open."

"...You think _I'm_ gay?"

"Well, yes. You made all those points about how being gay is great, so I guess I just thought..."

"I'm not gay, I thought you and Sherlock were gay! That's why I tried to show you I was cool with it!"

"What? I'm married to Mary, and Sherlock's not-"

"But Mrs Hudson said that you two used to be a couple!"

John stood in silence for the briefest of moments. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. Sherlock and I have only ever been good friends. I have told Mrs Hudson that a hundred times . She never quite accepted it."

Jenna shook her head in disbelief. "Shit. I've made myself look like an idiot - I'm sorry, John."

The older man smiled. "Of course not. At least we all know you're definitely not some homophobic arsehole, right?"

Jenna managed to crack a smile, but an uneasy feeling at the back of her mind told her that something still didn't add up. "But wait - Sherlock got so worked up about coming to see you guys today. If you were never together, why would he feel so unwelcome?"

"...It's like I said last night. Sherlock really believes that he's a nuisance; that everyone will leave him. It's why he's so hesitant to meet new people. still, he seems really fond of you."

Jenna rolled her eyes. Sherlock's grumpiness hardly seemed to be the behaviour of someone who liked her.

"I just mean..." John continued, but he seemed to be struggling with the wording. "I can tell that you... interest him. Intellectually. He can't work you out; I could see it in his face."

Before John had a chance to explain further, Mary appeared from around the corner. "Are you okay, Jenna? Sherlock said he could deduce that you were embarrassed from the position of your cutlery or something, and you did seem rather upset. Even he seemed worried."

John chuckled a little bit. "It's a long story."

About an hour, a glass of wine, and lots of gentle teasing from her new friends later, it was time for Jenna and Sherlock to leave. He had been mercilessly silent about her little outburst, which she greatly appreciated. During the cab ride home, he even endeavoured to make small talk.

"So," He piped up, after Jenna had spent a couple of long minutes watching the moonlight hit the Thames from her window. "What's your job again?"

"Well, I used to work in data management, but now I babysit an overgrown toddler," she smirked.

Sherlock took a second to think about what the woman sat beside him had said. "...Oh. You mean me. Yes. Very good."

Jenna turned towards him, the wine warming her nerves and melting her barriers. "Why are you asking me this, Sherlock? You know full well that I'm paid to live with you."

"I just-"

"You just wanted to break the ice?"

He sighed, relaxing the tautness of his arms and shoulders. "I suppose that I've come to realise how stubborn you are, now you've been around for a while. You're really not going to move out any time soon, are you?"

"Nope." Jenna smiled at the slightly softened man in front of her. "But I tell you what - how about I break the ice?" Sherlock glanced at her, seemingly in approval. "You know all those references to being gay I made tonight? Mrs Hudson told me that you and John used to be in love. I wanted to show you that it doesn't make a difference to me, but I just ended up making a fool of myself. I'm sorry."

Sherlock just smirked. He didn't have to say or do anything else - Jenna could tell that he didn't mind her mistake. He didn't seem to be the sort of man to take being mistaken for gay as an insult, and he'd probably heard it all from Mrs Hudson before.

"Whilst we're on the topic on confessions..." He leaned forward ever so slightly, his usually stony eyes warm and almost playful. "I heard you singing this afternoon."

Jenna felt a strange mixture of excitement and dread. "You did?"

"Yes. I was at the flat longer than you realised."

"...And?"

"Your chest voice is superb. Although, your falsetto could do with some practice." Jenna snickered, and Sherlock's eyes crinkled with a genuine smile. "I play the violin. Did you know that?"

"I never really had you down as a musician."

"I haven't played in a long time. I really do miss it. I just don't see the point in practising alone; there's no one around to tell me when I've gone wrong."

"I'm sure that doesn't happen very often."

"You'd be be surprised." Sherlock smiled again, more softly this time. Was he just trying to be kind to her after she had panicked at John's house? Was this the real Sherlock shining through? Either way, Jenna appreciated it.

"I'll propose a deal. I'll give you some feedback to get you back into practice. But," she added, her lips curving to match Sherlock's, "You've got to try and stop being so angry with me all the time. You know I'm only here to help my mum out. I have no interest in being Mycroft's spy."

The car came to a stop, and Sherlock began fishing in his pocket for a note to give to the driver. "I suppose I have no reason to disbelieve you; you've been more than honest with me so far. It's a deal." He opened the car door and gestured towards the flat. "Well then - shall we?"

As she made her way into 221B, Jenna realised that the disappointment that been nibbling away at her for most of the day had completely subsided. Was it because she and Sherlock had made a truce? Or maybe it was because...

She watched as he seemingly glided over to his violin. As he began to blow dust from the instrument's delicate curves, Jenna's heart sank and she came to her conclusion.

The disappointment had disappeared as soon as she found out he wasn't gay. She was glad that he was straight.

"I'm going to have to tune it up. I'll play for you tomorrow." He inspected the strings with an intense interest.

_**Please** don't tell me that I'm getting butterflies. _

"Prepare yourself," he added, with an arrogant smile.

Her stomach fluttered.

_Fuck_.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone! I really am sorry about the wait for this chapter. I ended up rewriting it a bunch of times and I'm still unhappy with it, but I couldn't spend any more time on it or I'd go crazy.**

**I know I've been somewhat ambiguous regarding Jenna's appearance. This is on purpose - I wanted her to be representative of all Sherlock fans. To me, she looks like she could be the child of Lizzy Caplan and Daisy Ridley. You picture her as yourself, and/or as a person of colour? That's totally awesome.**

**You may also remember that I said my nan has been unwell. Good news - it looks like she's going to be cancer free pretty soon!**

**I hope to update soon. In the meantime, I would love to hear your ideas and feedback! Thanks for reading.**

**~ Notyourhousekeeper_ ~**


	7. Flutter

"You like him!"

Jenna's brother giggled with all the boisterous glee of a schoolboy. Even over the phone, he was as bright and lively as ever.

She was going to throttle him.

"I don't, Fred," she hissed, trying desperately to ignore the damned fluttery feeling in her stomach that had been bugging her for a week.

"Oh please, Jen. Why else would you describe him as 'mysterious'?"

"Probably because I've been living with him for nearly a month and I know next to nothing about him."

"Then be extra nice to him! He might open up if-"

"Don't you think I've tried? All I really know is that he's not gay and that he plays the violin." Jenna pushed her trolley into the frozen aisle of the supermarket. "Which he still hasn't played for me yet," she added under her breath.

"Is he there with you now? Can I say hi?"

"No, he's back at the flat. I'm out on important business." She studied a pack of nuggets, trying to decide what dinners she would make this week. "Ooh, turkey dinosaurs are on offer!"

"...Important business, huh?"

"Oh, shut up." Jenna could almost hear Freddie's smug grin. He had always been so infuriating - the epitome of the annoying little brother. Still, it had been a long time since she'd seen him, and her irritation sank at the thought of his lopsided smile. "I miss you."

"Gross," Freddie replied. Jenna knew he felt the same as she did. "Anyway, I've got to go. Neil and I are going to visit mum."

"Give them both my love. And if you tell them about Sherlock, I will _end_ you."

"...So you do like him?"

"Oh, piss off!"

Sherlock was sitting in his chair when Jenna returned. She often found him like this: eyes closed, head leaning back, his fingers entwined and pressed into his lips. He told her that it helped him think. She wondered what exactly was dancing about in his "mind palace" at that moment.

"Cat!" He exclaimed, as if in response.

"Excuse me?" Jenna laughed as she placed her bags of shopping down onto the kitchen table, taking a moment to move an unidentifiable phial of liquid out of the way first.

Sherlock sprang up from his seat and went to grab his coat. "The cat! Of course. The victim was never smothered, but instead her allergies simply-"

"Sounds like another case cracked."

"Of course. Now that's solved, I'm going to eat. I want chips. Do you want some chips?"

Jenna was delighted by his offer, but patted one of the plastic bags and shook her head. "No thanks. Why don't you let me make something?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in response. "I thought you only cooked when Mycroft comes over."

"I know, but I thought it would be nice to mix things up a bit. I've had pizza delivered three times this week; it's got to stop."

Sherlock settled back down in his chair. "I suppose it will save me time. What will you make?"

She sifted through the bags. "...I fancy pizza, to be honest."

It wasn't long before the pair were tucking into their meal, Jenna sat at the table and Sherlock lounging on the sofa. She had only really spread the sauce and toppings on a store bought pizza base, but she couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph as Sherlock wolfed it down.

She watched him for a minute, wondering how quickly the cogs in his mind were turning, even as he devoured molten cheese. Her mind was working overtime, too. "I've been thinking-"

"That must make a change." Sherlock smirked at his joke, and Jenna rolled her eyes before continuing.

"My brother rang me this morning - he went with his boyfriend to visit mum today - and he was asking about you. We got onto the topic of your violin, and I realised that you still haven't played in front of me."

"...And?"

"Well, you said you'd play for me on our way home from John's the other week. We made a deal. I would help you practice if you would be more patient with me. You said you would do it the next day but you never got around to it, so-"

Sherlock set his plate down on the coffee table with a rattle. "Thank you, but you don't need to help me. Forget about it." He worded his response as if he were simply trying to save her the hassle, but there was a subtle annoyance to his tone.

"I'd like to. It's no trouble." Sherlock jerked his head towards her, but Jenna stood her ground, staring right back at her flatmate.

"I said, forget about it. It was a stupid deal. I don't need to practice. Besides, I have more important things to think about."

"More important things? Like what? Killer cats?" Jenna's voice grew whinier, and Sherlock shifted in his chair, seemingly uncomfortable with her line of questioning. "Why won't you play for me? Are you shy?"

"Why are you so persistent?"

Jenna wasn't sure herself - something within her just yearned to hear Sherlock play. Maybe it was because she was intrigued to hear the kind of music that such a cold and logical man could possibly make.

_Maybe it's because you're crushing on him_, she thought, before pushing the idea far down and out of sight. _No - no way. Just apologise. You're being difficult_.

Her frustration softened and she turned from him, finally breaking their gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Jenna." A chill rippled along her spine. She didn't know whether it was due to the force with which he spoke her name or the fact that he said it in the first place, but it left her more than a little jumpy.

"I- I don't know."

"Neither do I - I can't work it out from your expression, so you must be trying to keep your intentions a secret from me. What is it you want? Were you planning to listen and then ridicule me?"

Jenna folded her arms, hugging them tight to her chest as if to squeeze out the sneaking suspicion that this was all due to some silly crush. "No. Can't you just drop it?"

Sherlock sighed, rising to his feet. "For now, I suppose. But that's only because I have to inform Lestrade that the man he's looking for is actually a cat." He pulled on his coat. "Not because I'm being easy on you due to my... attachment."

"Attachment!? What do you mean by-"

He was already gone, coat billowing despite the lack of wind. Strange - whenever they had argued before, Sherlock would usually harass her either until she conceded or he was made to feel guilty.

All her frustration and embarrassment faded immediately away, and she grinned. Sherlock talked about attachment. Attachment! Was he attached to her? If so - in what way?

She clapped her hands together, twirling around the flat. Then, almost as suddenly as this giddiness had started, Jenna stopped in her tracks.

Ugh, what was she doing? Prancing around like a twelve-year-old, that's what. Once again, she'd let someone else dictate her emotions. Once again, she had let herself develop...

She dumped herself into a chair, rubbing her temples with her fingertips and taking a deep breath before sinking into her own thoughts.

_I've developed feelings for Sherlock._

It was true. Jenna had always been a hopeless romantic. She seemed to get that god damned fluttery feeling whenever a handsome stranger showed her kindness, whether it be on the train, on the street, or at work.

It always passed, though. She never actually pursued these men; she simply let the scenario unfold in her mind until their face faded away from her memory. The only true exception was Zack.

They met through a mutual friend at university. He a cocky and popular languages student. Jenna considered herself to be his polar opposite: she studied politics and preferred to stay in the background. Still, she was ecstatic when he asked her out on a date, and before long, they were an official couple.

Jenna had always considered herself a feminist. She would tell her friends if she thought their boyfriends weren't treating them right. She knew what constituted a healthy relationship and what didn't. She had still let it slide when Zack would check her phone. She still made excuses for him when he got angry and threatened to hit her. She still stayed with him when he made good on those promises of violence.

And yet, Sherlock seemed different. Sure, he had been abrasive and irritating at first - he still could be - but there had always been a subtle softness behind that stony face. A vague vulnerability that told her his sharp tongue wasn't the result of malice but was a defence mechanism.

He seemed so lonely, and so determined to conceal that loneliness. Everyone constantly told her that he struggled to trust people. She understood how he felt.

_Maybe that's why I'm feeling this way._ The thought drifted vaguely through Jenna's mind, and she grabbed hold of it. _Sherlock and I are too similar for our own good_. She needed to show him that she could be trusted and that she felt comfortable with him in return. But how?

She decided to take her opportunity the next evening, when Sherlock returned to the flat after being called out by Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock. Tough day?"

He ignored her, launching himself into the kitchen. "Oh. You've made dinner. Again."

"Yeah - they're turkey dinosaurs."

Sherlock picked up one of the nuggets between his forefinger and thumb, inspecting it from a distance. "...I see."

"So... do you remember when you heard me singing in the flat?"

"Do I remember?" Sherlock practically spat the final word out as he sat at the table, poking at one of the shapes on his plate. "I have a mind palace."

"Right. Yes. Of course you remember, sorry." Jenna sat down opposite to him. He didn't look up. "It's just crazy that you've heard me, because I never sing for anyone."

"You didn't intend to sing in front of me. You didn't know I was here."

"I know, but - I didn't mind. When I found out that you had been listening, I felt alright about it. I trust you, I guess. And I want you to know that you can trust me too."

"This is wrong." He didn't look at Jenna, or at anything else. He simply stared into space.

Jenna decided, as she often did, to fill the silence with a joke. "What? Does one of your triceratops nuggets only have two horns or something? I'm sorry if your dinner isn't anatomically accurate."

"No." Sherlock took a sharp breath. "All of this. The way you treat me. Making my dinners, asking to hear me play the violin. You're too... encouraging."

"Why is that wrong?"

"Because you have no reason to trust or support me. In fact, I've upset you on more than one occasion." After an uncomfortable moment, the detective spoke again, in a low voice. "I can't work you out. Do you know how rarely that happens?"

Jenna felt heat rise in her cheeks. Sherlock could get so intense, so fast. "I'm sure you can work plenty of stuff out about me. You found it easy enough to make deductions about me at first."

"Think back. I worked out that your mother was sick. And I realised how 'Zack' treated you. Those deductions were about other people. Not you." He exhaled, leaning forward to focus on her expression. "What do I know about you, Miss Nightingale?"

"I don't know." Jenna felt a small surge of bravery, as she, too, leaned forward, locking her own eyes onto Sherlock's. "But I have an idea. Why don't you try to work me out right now?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please. Deduce whatever you can about me. I want to know."

Sherlock moved around the table and quickly drew close - closer than he and Jenna had ever physically been. She swallowed hard as he scanned her face and body, intently and yet at a speed that suggested haste.

With great care, he took one of her hands. As he turned it over, he gently ran a fingertip along her palm. "...You're ambidextrous."

Jenna was certain that he could spot her slight tremor, or the way she had jolted at his touch. "I am."

He turned his attention towards her neck - or, rather, the delicate silver chain draped around it. "You've worn this necklace every single day since we've met." He turned over the small bird charm. "And I'd say you've been wearing it for a lot longer than that. The wear and tear suggests about two years. You do love your birds, don't you?"

"It's like my tattoo. A reminder that I'm always free to fly the nest."

"Yes you are." Sherlock took a step back, viewing not only one part of Jenna's being, but seemingly taking all of her image in. She had been blushing before, but by now her cheeks were practically scarlet. If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say a word. "You love to read."

"I've barely done any reading since I got here. How could you tell that I love to read just by looking at me?"

"I couldn't." Sherlock smiled his usual half-smile, half-smirk. "You just seem like the type of woman who loves to read."

She matched his smile with one of her own. "I do. See - you can work out anything you want about me."

"Anything except the reason you would be nice to me. Usually people are much more hesitant to show me kindness, especially when I've acted like such an arse." He looked up at her through dark eyelashes. "You're different, somehow."

Jenna's heart began to pound, and she giggled. "Different? Speak for yourself. I've never had a friend quite like you."

Sherlock tilted his head like a confused puppy. "...A friend?"

Jenna's eyes widened as she realised what she'd said. "Well... I'd like to call you that. If you'll let me. Because all those deductions you made were spot on, but you missed a big one. I care for you."

Sherlock pulled a hand through his thick mop of hair. "But I've treated you-"

"Like crap? Yeah, sometimes. But after that night at John's - seeing how much you care for your friends - I can tell that you have a lot more to offer than just snipes and insults. You're not a bad person, Sherlock."

Now it was his turn to become silent. Jenna saw his vulnerability once again; she saw it in his creased brow and bowed head. This was it. She had finally broken through to Sherlock - he seemed to know that she actually wanted to be his friend.

"Thank you for dinner," he muttered, after what seemed like an eternity. "I take it you have no plans for the evening?"

Jenna shrugged. "Nope."

"Good, because I believe we had a deal..." He crossed the room, picking up his violin case and blowing the excess dust from its surface. "...And you still haven't fulfilled your side of the agreement. You were going to listen to me play and help me to practice."

"I thought you said you didn't need to?"

"Perhaps I was wrong." With great care, Sherlock opened the clasp and opened the case, pulling out the instrument from within. "It's been a long time since I've even listened to music. I miss it. Would you mind?"

"Of course not. Go ahead."

Low, brooding notes swelled and melted away into the space between the two new friends, and the flutter of butterflies in Jenna's stomach grew to a fever pitch. The music was at once dark yet strangely gorgeous, much like the man standing before her. For the first time, she allowed herself to revel in her feelings rather than feel threatened by them.

Sherlock was usually so consumed by crime. Jenna watched intently as he instead became liberated by music. She sighed.

Fred was going to have a field day with this.


End file.
